Spying on the Enemy: The Grace Chronicle Prequel Book 1
by wannabe-an-author1864
Summary: Everyone has a secret. Some are just more dramatic than others. (This story is by my friend Jameson Adams, we have been working on it together and we wanted to post it)
1. Chapter 1

Here is the prequel to The Grace Chronicles. It is written by one of my friends and I really hope you enjoy it, I know I did. Please leave comments and tell me what you think. I will pass them onto the author :)

Grace's POV

I walked along the street towards the apartment building, like I do every morning on my way to "work." Just to stop in and see my brother. Or, more like it, go to Mrs. Hudson's place, climb out onto the old escape railing attached to the flat, nine stories high, and inch my way over to Sherlock Holmes apartment, because the escape was the only one left on the building, and very rickety.

It was part of my job.

Partly because Sherlock is the best detective in the business, and it's interesting to see his life where he isn't obsessed about crime, and the fact that he's the best, Moriarty could kill him too; and partly because his partner, sidekick, or whatever you want to call him is my brother: John. Also, because of my job. I could never give Sherlock this amazing case, because it isn't really a case; plus, I'm like him in a lot of ways-which means I can figure out a way to solve my own problems like he would. And either way, I'm just following Moriarty.

I've been following him since he sent me a note. Most people find it hard to believe that John has another little sister, not just Harriet, so when Moriarty sent me a note that he was going to kill John, I was out of the door in seconds, ready to stop him no matter what.

I walked over to their apartment, and peered in the window. John was reading the paper, as usual, and Sherlock was attempting to cook what appeared to be muffins, but was turning out more like hockey pucks.

"Oh, Sherlock. You're a brilliant detective, but a terrible cook," I whispered to myself. I realized they were okay, and I backed up from the window and climbed back into Mrs. Hudson's apartment.

Mrs. Hudson smiled at me. "You know, John and Sherlock are fine by themselves. They make a great team, and won't get into any trouble." She continued whisking her eggs, but then stopped. "Any more trouble then they already get themselves in." She flipped the sausages in her pan, and took her homemade jam out of the refrigerator. She then put her favorite oven mitt on and took her biscuits out of the oven. The food smelled so good, and when she put the eggs in the pan the sausage was in, and sprinkled a little cheese in, I figured I'd better go before I devoured all of her food, let alone her whole _kitchen_.

"Well, thank you again, Mrs. Hudson." I started walking out the door when I heard her laugh.

"Well aren't you going to stay for breakfast? Telling by the look in your eyes staring at my biscuits and sausages, you are hungry. And did you honestly think I made all of this food for myself?" She took two plates from her cabinet, along with two glasses, and set them down on her table, with a nice view of buildings out the window. I didn't want to intrude, but then again, how could I resist?

I walked over to the table, and sat down. She gave me plenty of everything, and I devoured it all. We talked about the weather, and about the local book club, and everything people do in London, until the news came on the TV.

"Breaking News. The famous Sherlock Holmes is reported at the new scene of a death near the London Bridge. The man—a 28 year old, working as a window cleaner at an apartment building, was pushed out of the scaffolding, reported by witnesses. The police are currently questioning the residents of this apartment building, but because it was a public area, on the lobby of the 25th floor, are residents are being questioned. More on this after the break."

I dropped my fork. I had a sneaking suspicion that this could be Moriarty's plot to finally kill John once and for all. I quickly thanked Mrs. Hudson, who asked me why I was in such a rush after a lovely conversation. I said I had to get to work, and started to leave. She knows I don't have a job.

"Why don't you…Why don't you stay, and watch the rest?"

"I'm not going for that. Work, like I told you."

She looked at me with _those _eyes. "Grace, I know you don't work. I'll support you in whatever you do, but do not get yourself killed. John could not take that."

"I know," I said, looking down. But before anything else could be said, the news turned back on.

"As reported before the break, Sherlock Holmes, the thirty-one-year-old detective who has solved many cases before, reports that this may be his toughest case yet."

"Right," I mumbled to myself.

"The bloodied body, clearly branded with an 'M' on the chest, leaves lead London Police Department Detective Lestrade clueless as the department continues to search for clues, leading to the pushing and ultimate death of Allen Redford earlier this morning. Witnesses stated that the death was not an accident, and one witness went as far as identifying the killer as a woman with long, dark, brown hair. While police are scrambling to figure out why Redford was killed, and may have theories on why, nothing is for certain at this moment."

I looked up at Mrs. Hudson. "I need to go."

I got a cab to the scene. Residents of the building were swarming around the bloodied body, branded with an "M" in the side of it. I looked up and saw the scaffolding of the window cleaner. It was very high up. I couldn't imagine how miserable that fall would have been.

I decided, after waiting for a very long time to investigate the body myself, I should distract the police.


	2. Chapter 2

Moriarty's POV

"You stupid idiot! How could you have—"

"I wasn't thinking!" the person said.

"Clearly," Moriarty spat back. "This could have cost me my life! In prison! I am built for spying, and killing, and rummaging through information to ruin peoples' lives! I am not built for prison!" I stopped pacing and turned to look at the person. "Everyone knows I live on the 15th floor. How do you explain that? You could have ruined everything! You foolish imbecile!"

"I said I was sorry."

"In this case, sorry is not enough for what you have done." I started pacing again. "We—sorry, I—need a plan for you to complete correctly, this time. I could have killed John and Sherlock today, killing two birds with one stone, but no! You infinitely screwed up my plan! You infuriate me!"

I grabbed a knife quickly, right by his chair, and threw it at the person. It landed right next to their face, sticking into the chair. The person screamed.

"Do I need to put your muffler back on?"

"No." The person tried to wiggle free, but the bonds were too tight.

"It's no use trying." I devilishly laughed.

"I did this only for him. We made a deal."

"And deals can be broken. It's only fair that some are, and in this case, our deal is one of these times where you have to suck it up and go with the flow, which is what I say, and what I say is I will kill him immediately if you screw this plan up."

"Fine! Just give me, and him, a chance!" The person started crying.

"Oh, let me wipe away those tears for you." I took the sharp blade, and wiped away the tear with the blade. The person screamed in pain as the blade cut her face. "Water. Makes it easier. And can't have the person getting too suspicious, so only one painful deed for you today." I sliced her wrists while slicing her bonds away from her with the blade. She screamed again but stopped when I put the blade to her throat.

"You may not like me, and God knows no one does, but remember just one thing. Deals can be broken." I finished cutting off her bonds. "And don't you ever forget."


	3. Chapter 3

I am so sorry i have no clue what has been going on with my chapters so i updated them and now they are right so please look through them and comment sorry again.

Grace's POV

"Help I just saw a shooter!" I said, looking around at where to point. I pointed randomly behind me, and the police walked over to me.

"Are you sure? I can have Sherlock and John take over here for me if you need…"

"No, it's fine. I'm a private investigator anyways," I said, making up the lie as I went. "You see, anything with a brand, like the 'M,' I have to be here. I'm Grace," I said, shaking their hands.

"Grace…?"

"Grace," I said coldly and sternly.

"I've never heard of you before, 'Grace,'" Lestrade said.

"That's because I'm not one who usually comes to such pity cases," I said, looking behind them and staring at the body.

The both of them looked insulted. "How come you've never been to one of our cases before, or you have never been referenced to us?"

"Because I make sure I'm not." Apparently, that did the trick, because they took Sherlock and John (I made sure I was in among the crowd), and the rest of the police with them. Apparently, the crowd went where the police went, because they seemed to disappear midair they went so fast. I walked over to the body, and lifted up the shirt. "M." Moriarty. James Moriarty.

But something I noticed—that Lestrade and the police apparently did not—is that their were words inscribed in the "M." In pen. They said:

_Pretty_

_ Oval_

_ Canvas_

_ Kill_

_ Everyone_

_ Tonight_

I immediately picked up on the word "POCKET," dismissing the odd words, and checked in there. There wasn't one, so I pulled down his pants—slightly, and saw a piece of paper taped to the pocket. Sure enough, it had, yet another, cipher.

_Here's a little poem for the troubled_

_ A little piece of my heart_

_ Pins and needles don't break bones_

_ But screws do, and so does rust_

_ Knives hurt_

_ And tears hurt wrists_

_ You don't understand what this means_

_ Do you_

_ But remember_

_ I'm watching over you_

_ And so is the scaffolding_

I looked up immediately, not even caring what the rest of the note said. I saw one man, standing alone, on the scaffolding. My mouth opened wide. Moriarty knew I was after him.

But that isn't what shocked me. What shocked me is that there was a woman, standing with him, who dropped down a bag.

Odd, yes. Very odd. I could think of anyone who would have dropped down a paper bag from a window, let alone a 25-story window. I wondered what could have prevented it from blowing away.

Curiously—as anyone in their right mind would have been—I went over and picked up the bag. It was a screwdriver.

The thing that shocked me most was that it was pointless. Nothing too it. It was funny. I put the screwdriver back into the back, and set it down. If it was dropped from a 15 story scaffolding, I figured it had some importance. I shrugged the though off and continued examining the body.


	4. Chapter 4

Please review and tell me what you think. Feedback would be amazing.

Moriarty's POV

"You need to know what's coming next," I said towards the person. Their eyes looked full of pain. Exactly what I was hoping for.

"You dropped the screwdriver. She won't figure it out for a while. She's too stupid to connect the dots and see the pieces of hair tied to the screwdriver. She'll figure it out, but it will be too late for her to save anyone or anything involved in the plan." I walked closer to the person, with my knife, but my assistant interrupted me.

"I was wondering if we could talk about something quickly."

"Did you think I wasn't busy? This person is right here. I am talking. Now go." I almost started to talk again, but he interrupted me again.

"Well, I was wondering about—"

I threw the knife down on the table. "Did I not just tell you to go?"

The assistant looked shocked. "You didn't say that I couldn't stay so I only assumed—"

I picked up my gun without him noticing, and placed it in my trench coat. "You assumed?"

"Yes sir—"

"You assumed? We do not assume. We have never assumed, because assuming and not knowing cold, hard, facts and evidence does not support theories, and make them correct. Assuming has not gotten us to where we are today." I had an idea. Before the assistant walked away, I said a few words.

"Wait." The assistant waited. "I need to ask you something. I'm not angry anymore. I'm not one to hold grudges." I knew, he knew, and the person knew, that was a complete lie the moment it escaped my mouth. I pulled out the gun. "Is there anything else you assume?"

The assistant laughed, but was sweating and nervous. "I assume, after every little thing, every single thing I have done for you, you will not shoot me."

I laughed, and shrugged. "Good answer."

The assistant gulped. You could have heard it from space. "Anything else, sir?"

"Yeah. Just one thing." I laughed, still having the gun in my right hand. "This is why we do not assume. Because half the time we assume, we will be wrong."


	5. Chapter 5

Please review and tell me what you think

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Grace's POV

I understood parts of the riddle, but I had to face reality. I had no clue what the riddle meant. Let alone, trying to understand POCKET. But I knew that I couldn't withhold evidence from the police. I was already pretending to be a private investigator. I was surprised they even fell for that.

Eventually, I just put the piece of paper right back where it was in the first place, and walked into the building. I figured if all of the police were too busy chasing a gunman, no one would try to investigate the 25th floor. And I saw why. The floor was a maze. From what I knew, Moriarty owned half of it. Surprised that the police didn't interrogate him first, I started with his door.

He had an elaborate security system, from what I could tell. A 3-digit pass code to get into his home. I typed in POC immediately, because I thought like a Sherlock—the three pointless words, their beginning letters, on the sheet. I liked being a Sherlock. I felt smart.

The door opened. I walked in slowly, and the door almost hit me in the face. Apparently, it stayed open for five seconds before slamming to a shut. I knew this wouldn't be the only security measure Moriarty would have in store.

Being careful about where I stepped, I tiptoed through the house before coming to another door labeled "X." Dumb Moriarty, I thought. We give him more credit than he deserves.

Turns out I was the dumb one. I touched the door, and lasers started shooting out of no where. I dropped to the floor, and part of my hair was singed off.

"Damn Moriarty," I said, looking at my lopsided hair. I decided my next best move would be to try to move to a wall, and then stand up. It was my best chance. As I was inching along the wooden floors, I must have hit a button that was hidden, because all of a sudden, a pendulum swung from above and swung across the room. Not that lasers were hard. Of course not.

I finally reached the wall, and I stood up, flat against it, as flat as I could, and looked around. I couldn't move anywhere. I'd just have to try my luck.

I saw a distant button panel in the corner of my eye. It was only ten feet away. I figured I could make it until then. Slowly dropping back to the floor the same way I rose to my feet, I inched my way over to the panel. I stood up, flat against the wall, but I was too close to the wall, that I couldn't touch any buttons.

"Damn it!" I said, then slipped back down to the floor, inched a foot over, stood up, and reached for the button panel. Only problem was, I couldn't see what the buttons were labeled. Of course not, because that would be too easy. I reached for the one I though would help me and pressed it. I hoped for the best.

I got the lasers to stop, but as if life hated me enough, nothing happened. Which meant something was going to happen.

I took only a few steps forward, and a trap door appeared underneath my foot. I took a step back. Great.

I took a few more steps, and another trap door. But this time, I heard something from the trap door. I heard voices.

"No, no, no, that's not how it works, my person. I tell you what to do, and you will do it. Remember, deals can be broken."

Moriarty.


	6. Chapter 6

Moriarty's POV

The sound of something above made me stop my yelling and look up. I saw BOTH of my trapdoors open. I laughed, and grabbed my remote.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." I heard running. I locked my door by a press of my button. Whoever it was, well, they were stuck. I could hear them try to open the door, then more footsteps. Right above me. I opened two more trap doors on order. I saw a figure in black flash over me. I shot bullets in all four, just in case the idiot was about to fly over any more. The person screamed. Excuse me—the idiot girl screamed.

"Damn girl!" I yelled. "I'm going to kill you!" Luckily, my walls are sound proofed. If not, well, I would have been in jail a long time ago. I looked at my person. "You will shut up. You will be insanely quiet while I go find my next victim, or I will shoot you." I started to walk away. "Not like you have any choice." Walking up the stairs, I loaded my gun—loudly, so the idiot girl could hear it—and shot three more bullets through the trap doors. I wasn't going to ruin my hardwood if her damn heels haven't ruined it already. The girl knew to keep her mouth shut. "Where ARE you!?" I yelled.

I heard footsteps to my left, behind me. I had the advantage: I knew the house. She didn't.

_But then_, I thought, _if she knows my pass code, then she could have looked into my house_. Then I realized it was all so stupid. I thought of putting the three pointless words at the beginning of the riddle so she would know the pass code.

If she knew any better, she would have not even come in. If she knew any better, she would know I could activate more trap doors and she could fall to her most likely death on the hard concrete floors 20 feet below. She'd at least break a bone, and I'd like to hear that scream.

_OR_, I thought, I could go with plan B. I could wait. And wait. And wait. Try to find her, leading her on to thing she could escape—maybe watch her even try to think she's safe. Let her crack underneath her fear. Let her drown in her fear. Let her be scared for her life.

I think I'll go with plan B, I thought.

I figured I'd put together my two favorite things: Death, and Fear.

And I _really do _love fear.

I would love someone to review just so i know what you think :)


	7. Chapter 7

Grace's POV

I couldn't believe it.

Even though I looked at the body. Looked up and saw Moriarty. Walked into the building. Punched in that curse—sorry, code. Walked into the apartment. I knew each step would lead to failure. Yet I still walked through the doors of Hell into the House of Death. Figuratively and literally speaking.

The moment he stopped talking, I quickly backed up from BOTH of the trapdoors. I knew better, but obviously not enough, because I still was the one who broke in to Moriarty's house. I was still "that idiot" and always would be.

I could hear him calling out to me. "Damn girl!" I thought that was the worst of it. But when I heard him load his gun, and call out his horror-movie worthy comment "Come out, come out, wherever you are," and shoot even more bullets—I lost count and just couldn't, I was too scared—I ran. For my life. Because obviously, my life was something was after.

I heard his footsteps, so I ran again. Further into the depths of his house I didn't know about. I had no clue where I was going, and when I entered an unknown room, I had to hope for the best. Because it was the only thing I could do to keep myself sane. But when I entered another room, I knew I ran the wrong way, because I ran into a room with the only the exit the one I came in. And going back out would be a death wish.

I climbed up the ladder to the next apartment—apparently he owned the one above AND below him—and found myself in a closet. The door was locked, so I kicked down the ladder I climbed up. I didn't care that he could have heard, but at least there was a bed where the ladder fell on. I too k my legs and spread them out so they couldn't be seen if he looked up.

I heard footsteps enter the room. And obviously, they weren't mine. I held my hand over my mouth, and I cried. New watery tears added to my old, tried up ones. I wanted to scream, but I knew I couldn't. I just sat there for what seemed like hours. Every second turned into a minute, and every minute turned into an hour. I kept hearing footsteps, and right when I thought that I was safe, I heard even more. But when I finally thought he walked out, suddenly I heard footsteps, right under me. I flipped my hair to look to my right.

Dumb move. He could have seen my hair.

I heard him start to walk away, because his footsteps kept getting softer. I thought I was in the clear, so I sighed.

"I love your hair," he said, his face inches from mine.

I screamed as the bullet entered my leg.

Please comment i will be posting the rest of the story one chapter every day! Please Review tell me what you think


	8. Chapter 8

Moriarty's POV

Poor thing passed out when I shot her leg. I hated her, though, for disturbing me. Me and my person. I could've killed her, but I figured torturing her would be WAY more fun.

So I just pulled her out, set her on the floor, and opened the trap door. She fell in, and I walked back down the stairs.

Once I got down there, I sat her up on a chair. In a different room from my person's, to prevent talking. I couldn't have the surprise ruined because Grace decides to wake up without a moment's notice. I locked the doors, for safe measures, and walked into the other room. To the person. Their eyes were wide open. I could almost _smell _the fear on them. They were staring at me, crying.

"You've had quite the show," I told them. "You have the right to cry. I won't slice your eyes again. You've had quite the show, put on by me, your entertainer. Here, being…excuse me, having and being given just a little tough love." I laughed. "You never fail to disappoint me. Well, almost, never, actually, which is why when you do fail, I get so ANGRY and FURIOUS." I traded my gun for my sword. "One fail, you understand, of course, that I'm angry. Two, and you get a warning. Three—" he turned to his left. "Assistant," I called for. My new girl assistant came in. Only a day new to the job.

"Yes—" I threw the sword, and it landed into her skull. Deep, like butter. The person screamed. A muffled scream.

"And there's your warning." The person's eyes grew even bigger. "Now you succeeded both of my tasks, yes, yet somehow, not in the way I told you to. Isn't that weird? I wrote down the plot, in my words, for you to act out. You didn't listen, and now you're being punished. Funny how that works." I shot the gun into the person's hand. The person had another muffled scream incident. "Hear that? That could've been your last sound. Everyone has what they hear last before they die. That could've been yours." I quieted myself down. "A little further up, just about two degrees angle from my hand to your head, and you would have been dead. However, you did what I said needed to be done. Of course, not in the way I asked. But that's okay. For now."

"MMMM," the person said muffled. I yanked off the muffle. "I dropped it on accident!" the person said in a hoarse whisper. I laughed.

Wrong thing to say.

"You don't just 'drop' a bag of that importance. So shut up and whisper more. We can't have Gracie listening in, now can we. Yeah you know her, Miss Watson," I laughed. Her blue eyes grew even bigger. Her black hair flipped back and forth as she was struggling to get out of the bonds yet again.

But most importantly, I saw the fear in her eyes. Oh, poor little girl. Didn't know what was coming for her.

"Episodes have been taking place, but get ready for a season finale. And this one includes a death of a very special friend."

I pointed my gun towards Grace's door.

"Your little sister."

Another part as i promised now if people don't start reviewing i maybe be reverted to a part every week and i'm feeling a little mean today so maybe even a part every month mwahahaha Review!


	9. Chapter 9

Grace's POV

My leg stung with pain as I limped over to the edge of the door. I heard gunshots so I tried to walk faster, and as I saw a table with bandages, I walked quickly over to there. I was so concerned about bandaging myself up that I almost forgot I just lived—barely, however—through one of the most suspenseful and dangerous moments of my life.

I stood up, using my good leg, and saw some alcohol. I took a swig—for pain relief—of vodka, before I poured the rest of the small bottle over the wound. I tried my hardest not to scream. I took pain killers, and put the gauze and bandages over my wound. It started to be where I could walk. Over to the door.

I listened in on Moriarty and what I called the "Mysterious Muffled." Poor person. Moriarty was yelling. I couldn't hear well, even with my ear pressed up against the door, so I moved a little over to the hinge. I could hear perfectly.

"So you failed me, huh?" Another bullet. "Maybe do it right next time! Here you are, in the perfect position to kill them, but you screwed your second job up!" He laughed and I cringed. He laugh was cold. His laugh was death.

And I expected it to be. I wanted to run in there and kill Moriarty—for everything he said about John, and the threats, and murders—it just didn't seem right. Murder him coldblooded. But I knew I couldn't, and wouldn't. I couldn't stoop down to his level, and it would be wrong. I expect him to kill. He's the murderer. I'm not. So I wouldn't kill him.

Either way, I couldn't believe what I heard next.

"That Gracie had a chance, had she not come in here. That hair was brilliant, you tying it onto the screwdriver, but you screwed the bag up! She might actually figure out what the screw driver was!" I was finally starting to connect the dots. Whoever it was, was the key to all of the mysteries—the screwdriver, the hair, maybe even John's threat letter. I had to figure out who it was, and get my hands on that information. My first thought was to reach into my pocket for my bag, but I remembered I'd left the bag at the crime scene.

Faking passing out is harder than it seems. People try to shake you and wake you, and you almost want to punch them in the face. But that would eliminate the purpose of faking it.

Good thing is you can hear everything they say. So when Moriarty shut the door, I jumped out of my chair.

I was really confused, about the plans.

"So you killed the scaffolding guy, like we discussed, but you didn't kill who we wanted to in the first place! What a waste of a death. You are stupid enough to even THINK you could pull off the next plan without my go ahead. And you did anyways, and you screwed it up! You imbecile!" I saw through the door edge something shiny. There was a muffled scream. I knew, at that moment, it was a knife.

"You aren't as stupid as Gracie, though. I'll give you that credit. I'm going to kill her, I think, because I only need you. And as far as I'm concerned, she's only a waste of space." He grabbed the shiny thing.

I got up and ran.


	10. Chapter 10

Moriarty's POV

I was just throwing crap at her now. So many thoughts were racing through my mind, what I came out with was so confusing. But I knew what I wanted to do in the first place. I wanted to kill Grace. I felt like Gracie's older sister would need a reason, though, I'd at least give her that. But that _idiot _Harriet stopped me by kicking the sword out of my hand. I had to stop to re-slit her face. Punishment, I told her. Actions deserve consequences, whether good or bad. It's my rule. She screamed. I guess at that point I couldn't get it through to her—the fact that she broke the rules, and because she broke the rules, she deserves consequences. So I re-slit her face, yet she still screamed! I just don't understand it. And that makes me even angrier.

That took thirty seconds away from me. I was furious. In fact, I forgot about Grace. But I heard a noise. Like someone falling. My first thought was Grace was waking up and yelling, but I couldn't have been sure.

Then I heard her yell "God damn it the door is locked!"

She may have been injured before.

But she is dead to me now.

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Alright now i posted 2 chapters so please review. I'm working on making a facebook page for the Grace Chronicles this way people can post art and question and anything and i can give you updates on what is coming up. Please review and tell me what you think thanks.


	11. Chapter 11

Grace's POV

I may have been fine if I hadn't tripped over my vodka bottle. I ran up to the stairs' door, but the door was locked.

I had seconds before he saw I was gone. I took the bobby pin out of my hair. I quickly picked the lock on the door. I heard the door to my room slide open.

The lock on the staircase door didn't open.

"GRACE!" Moriarty yelled.

I quickly tried the door. It was just jammed. I had two seconds before he grabbed me. I slammed the door on his right hand. He screamed in pain and he fell on the ground.

"Payback for making me fall on the ground," I told him. I was lucky I didn't break any bones. I shut the door, locked it, and went to the entrance.

I tried picking the lock back at the entryway door into the hallway, but that didn't work. I sat in the living room, to try and figure out an escape plan; a way to get out of his house.

Windows were out of the question, considering the 25-story drop. Then, I thought, maybe I could punch in a code to get outside, but it was a sliding, bomb-proof door. No code on the inside that I could punch in. I tied an extra rope to the door on a hook nearby for coats so he couldn't get out.

Then I had an idea. What about the scaffolding? The window wiper's scaffolding was still there.

I thought at first the police could have taken it down for evidence, but I hoped they didn't and wishfully started to walk towards the winds (while Moriarty still screamed), but remembered they said it was on the floor lobby.

Yet, it was right outside his window.

I saw it. Right out outside Moriarty's lair, his apartment, his dungeon and torture chamber. Just as I was about to connect the dots, the final line was drawn. I understood it, almost.

Whoever that person was, I had to find them. That person was (I sounded like) forcibly put in the position to kill. They would know all the answers. Whoever it was was the one who paid the TV station to say it was in the lobby…

Unless they had someone on the inside. But then I realized that couldn't be possible. I knew it wasn't. I found so many people I would have to have found them by then.

I saw the scaffolding, and I knew it would be the only way to get down, other than getting the remote. Unless there was another remote on that floor, I couldn't go back and try to fight Moriarty for the remote. I knew I shouldn't and wouldn't even try, because I knew he would pull something. He's Moriarty. He always pulls something.

Either though I thought there wasn't a remote in the apartment—other than in Moriarty's hands—I still looked around for a remote. In the closet I hid in (not successfully), in all of the corners—I even found a few hidden compartments behind paintings, and under the couch. I even found a few hidden compartments behind paintings and under the couch. I pressed a few buttons on the large button panel, but not too many. Last time I did that, I almost died.

In the end, I realized my only option was the scaffolding. I could die, I thought, but then, I also thought, I would die even if I went to Moriarty. Either way, there was a risk.

The scaffolding was two feet away from the window. It may not seem like a lot, but 25 stories up, it's a different story. And it dangled in the wind.

"Why the HELL am I doing this?" I asked myself as I opened the window. I climbed up on the couch, put my foot out 250 FREAKING FEET ABOVE THE GROUND, and pulled the scaffolding in. Somehow, Moriarty and his person did it. I could do it.

I looked outside, and saw the harbor. I decided that if I fell, I would fall looking at the harbor.

Right as I was about to jump on to the scaffolding, my phone decided to vibrate and scare me. I fell onto the couch.

"Hello?" I asked. IT was John. I sounded annoyed.

"Hey, Gracie. Just checking if you're doing well," he replied. I was standing back up, trying to get back on the scaffolding.

"Um, I'm kind of busy," I said, trying to say it normally, but my voice cracked. I couldn't blame myself.

"Okay. Well I'll call you later. Bye," he said. I threw my iPhone to the ground.

"No more distractions," I told myself. I pulled the scaffolding towards me with my foot.

And I jumped in. In retrospect, I should have kept my eyes open. I landed one foot it, one foot out. The shock of the jump started to make me fall out the way gravity wanted me to—towards the ground 250 feet below.

But, I pulled myself back in.

"No," I told myself. "You don't get to die. Moriarty doesn't get to win."

But, when I jumped onto the scaffolding, it made a weird sound.

Like…the screws were coming undone.

When the bottom started to fall out, I understood what the screwdriver was for.

The bottom fell out, and sides started to fall off.

"NO! HE DOESN'T GET TO WIN!" I yelled.

The scaffolding fell apart. Completely. Yet, I wasn't falling. I realized I was holding on to a cable. One cable for both of my hands.

250 feet above the concrete ground.

* * *

Please review it would be absolutely amazing!


	12. Chapter 12

Moriarty's POV

My two dead assistants were two inches away from my face. My hand throbbed in pain, and Harriet kept screaming.

And I was so happy.

I causes so much pain, and pain gave me such a thrill.

I was Moriarty. I was the one who was feared. The one who…the one who made everyone afraid of me, and afraid to live in fear that I was always watching.

And I loved it.

The thought of this drove me to get up, and I took my gun with me. For me, self-esteem is like a natural pain killer.

My gun wasn't fully loaded, so I went back into the room where Harriet was screaming. She stopped when I entered.

"Moriarty is she—" she started, words racing out of her mouth like a flood.

"Calm down and shut up. She's not dead—well, yet, or as far as I know. I haven't killed her, either way." I got some bullets, put them in my gun, and shot the front two legs of Harriet's chair.

"You move, you crash onto the concrete floor and hurt your head." I grabbed more bullets and walked out of the room.

I thought I was so clever, shooting the chair; so if she moves, she gets hurt.

I tried opening the door to see if Grace was still alive—I mean, in my house—but it was locked. I stood back, shot four bullets at the door handed, and the door fell open.

"Grace, clever clever," I said, looking at the rope. I walked out.

"Gracie!" I yelled playfully.

"Shut up I'm trying to think!" she yelled.

But she wasn't in my house.

I sighed, annoyed. _Damn it, _I immediately thought. _She didn't die_.

I walked over to the open window, and looked down. Grace was dangling there, hanging above the street. It was hard for me to get on the scaffolding. I found myself wondering how she managed to hold on to the cable. I found myself angry that my plan didn't work, but I figured, _she's still probably going to die. At least she isn't in the house, and the scaffolding is broken. I can work with this_.

I took the cable and pushed it. "MORIARTY STOP IT!" she yelled. "I'm going to die!"

I laughed. "That's the goal, isn't it?" She started crying, my guess is from shock. I pushed the cable harder.

"Stop playing games!" she yelled.

I chuckled even more.

"But I _love _playing games."


	13. Chapter 13

Grace's POV

I wanted to murder him. And, at that time, I was going to. If I didn't die first.

So there I was, hanging on to the cable, 250 feet above the ground, when I knew I had to climb up. I couldn't let Moriarty win.

During his taunts and cursing at me, I slowly—very slowly—inched my way up, or at least started to. I told myself just a little bit more to the window. My arms and legs burned, but I told myself, over and over again, "No. No. You will NOT let him win."

I thought about everything. Why I even started this whole spying thing. Spying on Moriarty just because of a threat. _But,_ I told myself, _you did the right thing. It was your brother he threatened. You wanted to save him. You did the right thing._

Then I thought about John. He wouldn't have wanted me to do this. He wouldn't have wanted me to risk _my _life for him. HE would have thought I was crazy, following Moriarty around. He would be so angry.

But then, I thought, what if I died? Poor John. How stupid is Gracie! I knew he would think that. I just knew he would. He would be furious. At least then, maybe Sherlock and John would have the drive to want to try to kill Moriarty.

Moriarty. He—_he_was the one who caused all of this hurt. He was the one who threatened John. Who started all of this. He was the one who was torturing that poor person. HE was the one who was pushing the cable and hoping I would fall off and die. I _hated _Moriarty—yet I kept trying to spy on him and follow him. I could figure out EVERYTHING about the current case, yet I could figure out why I kept following him.

This pain and anger drove me upwards. I started to reach for the window…And Moriarty pushed the cable. HARD. I was fighting for the window, but my right hand slipped on the cable. I grabbed it with my left hand, hanging on barely.

But something happened—I was pulled in the house. By Moriarty.


	14. Chapter 14

Moriarty's POV

While Grace was dangling there, I thought about her. I felt this…this connection. Like love.

Which made me want to kill her more. I pushed her as hard as I could, because I'm Moriarty. The King of Death. I don't fall in love. I torture and kill; I don't fall in love.

But when I pushed her, and she started to slide down, I grabbed her arm. It was the quickest, but one of the biggest, decisions of my life. I couldn't let her die. And I _never _have ever saved even just one of my victims.

"I've only fallen in love once before. The woman loved me, too. And we had fun. Moriarty doesn't have fun. But we had fun, we went to murder mystery movies, we went to dark restaurants, we took walks on dark nights…we had fun.

"But we were sleeping one night. That terrible night. We were having quite a bit of fun," I said laughing, "and we didn't lock the door. So she got taken in the middle of the night. And got pushed off the roof, 400 feet onto the ground." I frowned after I told Grace, and almost cried.

"Why are you telling me this?" Grace said. I pulled her all the way in.

"Because I have other plans for you."


	15. Chapter 15

Grace's POV

I was scared. It wasn't that horror scared, it was the suspicion scared. It wasn't that I was just pulled into the house of the devil. Or I was just dangling above death. It was Moriarty saying he had "other plans" for me. Other plans could not be good.

HE dragged me to his front door. I tried shaking off his arm, but he refused to let go of me. Instead, every time I tried getting out of his grasp, he tightened his grip even harder. "You will follow me," he said. "And you will not fuss about it."

"Not like I have a choice," I yelled back. He yanked me.

Then he had a change of direction. He shut his door and brought me back to the staircase to his basement. I was sure he was finally going to torture me and kill me, or maybe do more…I got those thoughts out of my head.

But instead, he brought me past my room, and into the other. There was a woman, with brown hair. Her head was covered with a bag.

"This could be you," he said. He laughed. "But you're not being tortured physically. You're just being tortured with fear." He laughed his devilish laugh.

I was scared. My eyes were opened wide, and my mouth was gaping. I wanted to strangle Moriarty, and scream in his face. I wanted to cuss and spit at him. But I knew I had to close my eyes, keep my mouth shut, and keep my hands to myself. Because I knew he could do this. He couldn't control me. He wouldn't. He wouldn't because I wouldn't let him.

He led me out of the room, and back to his front door. He opened it and he let me through the hallway. He got out a rope and tied me to a table out in the lobby, near the staircases.

"Not like you have a choice, but wait here and shut up."

He left me, tied up to a table, in the middle of the 25th floor. How normal. Either way, I was happy to be inside, sitting on solid ground.

Sooner or later, I figured, someone would come by. And soon enough, an elderly woman walked by. She looked at me weirdly.

"Hey," I said, smiling

"Do you…" she started. She struggled to get words out, while I just sat, smiling at her. "Do you need any help?" I tried to be as sarcastic and as rude as possible, because obviously, I did.

"Nope. I'm only tied to a table by a rope, and a murderer is chasing after me and almost killed me. Not much help is needed." Luckily, I planned it perfectly. I put my shoe in the doorway on the way out, so his door wouldn't close all the way. Either way, the person screamed. The girl screamed.

"That would be him—the murderer," I laughed. The woman walked away with a scared look on her face. "Nice meeting you," I called out after her.

Unfortunately, Moriarty eventually came back. I guess I wouldn't want to be tied up to a table with rope forever, but I hate Moriarty even more.

"Let's go!" he yelled at me, and started to untie me.

"You know, I've heard of a great anger management class at Oxford. You might want to try it, or at least check it out." He acting like he didn't hear me. "How rude. Anyways, where are we going? Field trip?" I continued sarcastically.

"Shut your damn mouth!" He untied me.

"Whoa, calm down with the cussing! Where we going?"

"It's a surprise." I guess that's his way of giving in. He smiled. And telling by his smile, it was a good one for him, which meant it was a bad for for me.

He led me to the staircases, but instead of going down, he went up. He grabbed my arm. "You have any lotion?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Your hands must be burning from the cable. Put some lotion on." I pulled out my lotion and my water bottle, poured some lotion into my bottle, mixed it around, and poured the water/lotion mixture on my hands. So I wasn't slippery. I had a feeling I'd need my hands.

He kept going and we ended up on the roof. He laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" I asked.

"This is the roof my wife died on."

"She wasn't your wife."

"Shut up!" he yelled. I looked off the roof, at the harbor.

"And this is the roof you will die on." He grabbed me and brought me to the edge. 400 feet down. I shuddered. It made 250 feet look like a step. This was the whole staircase.

He pulled up the scaffolding—or what was left of it, the cable, and he laughed again.

"You can catch the cable for the two-hour long ride down, that I will be giving you after I push you, or you can fall down to the ground."

"I looked at him, deep into his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" I started crying. Moriarty stared into my eyes, for only a few seconds. "Because I love you." He shoved me as hard as he could off the roof. I had no time to react to my most likely death. Only a tear could escape my eyes before I faced the brutal truth: maybe dying is better. Maybe not living where Moriarty loves me—maybe dying really is better.

And I told myself at this time, to let go. Because I knew there wasn't any hope left for me.

I couldn't do that to myself.


	16. Chapter 16

Moriarty's POV

I watched Grace fall, and a tear escaped my eyes. I loved her, and had lost my chance with love again.

But Moriarty doesn't fall in love. He doesn't love. So when I pushed Grace off the edge of the rooftop, I had great relief off of my back. I also knew I made a huge mistake. But I watched Gracie fall. I watched her fall and not hold on to the cable. I started crying. I couldn't look—but I knew I had to. I watched her fall, and quickly I had to make a decision. I had to save her.

I let the cable fall, and it reached the ground 50 feet before Grace would have hit.

Thank God, Grace took the cable.

But…she did something I didn't expect. She started to slide down the cable. She did this whole thing to escape. Make me angry, and push her, and being rude…everything. I hated her. I started to pull the cable up, and ten feet above the ground, Grace jumped.

I helped Grace. I fell for it. For a _second _time.

Grace…She escaped.


	17. Chapter 17

Grace's POV

"DAMN MY HANDS AND SHOULDERS!" I yelled. My hands stung from the metal, and I just spent an excruciating moment popping my shoulders back in from dislocating them. I know I hate cussing, but I had to say it. I didn't care about the hundreds of people looking at me.

Sucker. Like I'd really love _him_. That did shock me, though.

However, what surprised me more is that when I got down to the ground, the person waiting for me…that shocked me the most. Harriet was waiting. Harriet Watson. My sister. And she looked god-awful.

"Harriet!" I yelled. Her black hair was matted, her face was bruised, and had a cut; her wrists were bloody, and her arms were bruised. She was limping and crying.

"Grace," she whimpered. She limped over to me and hugged me. I forgot about my pain and wanted to help her. But instead of asking her what I could do to help her, or asking her if she wanted to catch up with me, my mind wandered over and wondering how she got her…everything.

"Harriet!" I said, trying to be happy. I looked up and down at her body, smiling that fake smile that had been applied to my face since I saw Harriet. "I would love to catch up, but…how did this happen?"

She looked…hesitant, more than anything else. I was suspicious. "I—I just tripped on some stairs. Fell down a flight of stairs." She cried more.

I didn't hug her because I knew she was lying. I hugged her because she was my sister. "It's okay. Let's go get lunch. You look starved." Harriet nodded. "Haven't eaten for three days," she replied. Her eyes got wide. I knew then that she wasn't supposed to say that.

She looked extremely depressed, but I didn't ask her about it. I figured she'd want to tell me when the time came.

Later that night, while Harriet was sleeping on the couch, I thought about the fall. I looked at Harriet, and the thought of sleeping carried me off.

_I was falling. My heart, pounding faster than an airplane flew through the air. _

_ '__Come on, Moriarty. Drop the cable. Come on.' Finally. Thank God forevermore. _

_150 feet above the ground, he drops it._

_100 feet. Almost there. 'Come one, please, please, please.'_

_50 feet. I catch it. _

_ "__HELL MY ARMS!" My shoulders pop out of their sockets. I scream, and bawl. But I slide down. I can hear my shoulders rubbing together. My hands are bleeding. I can see blood running down the cable. I scream and cry even more. _

_I drop because I can't take it—my bleeding hands and my dislocated shoulders. Moriarty also starts to pull the cable up. _

_I pop my shoulders back into place, and I cuss even more. _

_Then I see bloodied and bruised Harriet._

I woke up. That's the closest thing I've had to the worst nightmare I've ever had. I tried going back to sleep, but I was afraid of more nightmares. I just kept my eyes on Harriet when I couldn't go back to sleep, and that kept me going through the night.

I was snapped back into reality when Harriet screamed.

"Harriet, after an experience like yours, a traumatic one, then you scream."

She stopped crying and screaming. "I only—only fell down the stairs." She got up, and sat at the table.

"Right," I said quiet enough so she wouldn't hear me. I got up. "Harriet, are you sure you—"

"Like, really, I mean, really. I'm your sister. Believe me."

"Well, I don't." I crossed my arms. Harriet started at me. "A fight for another day," she said.

We walked out into the hallway, and down to the lobby. After getting some tea and biscotti and the local café that everyone in the building loves so much, we walked down the street. The black cobblestone was beautifully lit up against the early morning sunlight. We walked down to Mrs. Hudson's.

Walking into the room (after she let us in so nicely and was so glad to see Harriet and that she should start making food for us all), I went over to the escape. Climbing out, onto the escape, I went over to the window. John and Sherlock weren't there.

"Why are they gone?" I asked myself. I looked inside, showing my full body in the window. I saw the door opening. Maybe they were just gone. Harriet and Mrs. Hudson called my name, all of a sudden.

"You're on the news!" Mrs. Hudson called out. I climbed in through the window. While Harriet was stopping whisking the eggs, Mrs. Hudson walked to me.

"Were they not there today?" she asked me, noting the concerned look on my face. She started to look concerned as well when I told her they weren't. They were always there on mornings between eight and nine. Always.

"I'm not on the news in a good way," I said. I grabbed the remote and turned up the news.

"News, just coming in this morning, shows the dead window washer's scaffolding falling apart, when a woman jumped on it. This video shows her handing from 250 feet from the newly built luxury condominium building near London's Harbor. A man pulled her in, but later that day, the same woman is shown, falling 350 feet before she caught the same exact cable that held the scaffolding, and that she was holding on to. Our detectives say she most likely hurt both her shoulders and hands, sliding down the cable. No one is for sure, but theories are circulation, that this might have something to do with the window cleaner's death only hours before. Nothing is for certain, but the video looks like the woman is trying to escape. We will update you as soon as—" I turned the TV off, and saw the food on the table.

"Let's eat."

After eating, I heard something in the flat next door. It was very sudden, very startling, and very concerning. I got up, wiped my mouth, and polished off my last biscuit and jam. I looked out the peephole at the front door, and then slowly opened it. There was someone in the hallway. They didn't seem to notice me, so I studied them for a minute. They seemed…they seemed like they were up to something. And then when his hand went into his black-as-midnight trench coat, and his hand brought out an oily pistol, I knew what he was up to (obviously). I didn't think about myself, though. I didn't think about Harriet who was beaten up by a stupid staircase (so she said), I didn't think about Mrs. Hudson who was probably scared to death; all I thought about was my brother and Sherlock.

What made it worse is that the shooter was one of Moriarty's.

"SHOOTER!" I yelled, which wasn't the brightest thing to yell when there's a shooter trying to kill you, your sister, and your brother, but I had to alert people. I had to be good for something. I slammed the door and locked it shut. Mrs. Hudson and Harriet already ran to hide after they saw my face. I heard a door open, in the hallway. I looked through the peephole on the white wooden door. It was someone across the hall. I wasn't crying, or so I thought, but a tear escaped my eye from me being caught in a moment like this. You see shootings in movies, you hear about them at schools, and you hear about them everywhere else, but you can never imagine them in real life. When they are actually happening to you; your mind doesn't process, you start to hyperventilate, and thanks to the way your goddamn bodies work, you immediately think you're about to die. I turned my thoughts back on the person across the hallway, with the gun barrel pointed at her head.

"No, please! No!" she screamed. I wanted to run out, and help her, but I forced myself to not watch. I turned around and closed my eyes. I knew what was coming next, and even thought I knew what was coming; the gunshot startled and scared me so much more. I started crying, and shaking, and slid down the door, my hands over my head. I cried and cried and cried, and let everything that had ever happened to me out. Maybe even too much.

The bullet reminded me of Moriarty. Moriarty was talking in the hallway, and I was even more scared.

"Is that Moriarty?" I heard Harriet call out.

"Yeah," I said, trying to reply casually and not to sound scared. Harriet walked out.

"It was Moriarty," Harriet started. "He—"

But I shook my head. I put my hand up to her, and she stopped talking. My look told her to stop, too. I started shaking even harder, and I got angry. I was furious. I was screaming and crying my head off, and then I stopped. I stopped and stared at her in disbelief. I couldn't wrap my head around what happened…and it actually did.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." I kept saying.

"Grace—" Harriet made an attempt to calm me down.

"Oh god, HE DID THIS TO YOU! HE did this to us!" I was crying and shaking, and hyperventilating. "HE DID THIS TO US!" I grabbed the nearest knife.

"Gracie!" Harriet ran and grabbed the knife from me. I tried grabbing it back from her, but that didn't work. I ran towards the kitchen and grabbed another knife from the rack, and ran away before Harriet could catch me again.

I jumped outside, the other knife with me. I wanted pain other than what happened over the last thirty hours. I wanted to die. I knew I had something from that time period, I knew my mind developed something. I just didn't know what.

I climbed onto the escape. The only one on the building, nine stories up. Moriarty was standing right next to me, climbing back into Sherlock's apartment. My face was pale, and my head felt like it would burst.

"Good luck." He started to get further in, and then he uttered words I never thought I would hear again. That I never wanted to hear again. The thing that I desperately hoped wasn't true, and that I told myself it wasn't; "I love you."

The escape fell, and the scenes of Moriarty saying, "I love you" to me, replayed in my head as I fell ninety feet onto the ground.

**The End **

_**Please comment and tell me what you think. As i announced on my other story's The Grace Chronicles Book 2 shall premiere on July 19! I love all my fans and I just want to thank you and i know my friend who wrote this story does too. I shall pressure him to write more and hopefully i will post updates soon!**_


	18. Facebook Page

**The Facebook page is officially up. You can use it to send question or comments. Also it is where i will be posting any updates about the story. It is meant for you my fans so you can use it and send me fan art (which would be amazing if someone did that) Thank you guys so much please go like it. To find it just look up The Grace Chronicles in your Facebook search and you should find it the picture is Sherlock's wallpaper smiley face. Please comment on any of my stories if you have a problem. I love you guys so much. Thank you for everything. **


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